Nectar of Gods
by nosmaeth
Summary: After rescuing a tortured Celebrían from Orcs, a son and a husband both have to deal with pain and loss. The fury of Elrohir brings out strange, painful memories for Elrond. Vengeance is the nectar of gods, and reconiciliation after this philosophical argument is certain to be slow in coming... if it ever comes at all. One-shot, bookverse.


**The Nectar of Gods**

Elrond hurried through the woods, his feet guided by the sounds of metal crashing against bone, by the sound of deadly screams, by the sound of curses on that ancient, beautiful language that nobody spoke now on the hither shores. The language that gave such power to words that they forged all the might and pain of the ages. The speech that should not have been uttered, not here, not now, nor ever. Not in this life, not in this age.

His worry made his feet light, his speed unmatched, but when he arrived at the source of the sounds, he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide, face ashen.

Some twenty foul beasts, goblins of the mountains, lay all around the meadow, their bodies a bloodied mass, a mash of black gore, intestines and bones. But nor the smell, neither the sight of bloodshed would have been enough to turn the Peredhel's face snow-white, for he had seen great battles and faced terrors that forged his mind adamant, more easily than the hammers of Aule could forge steal.

Nay, what froze his insides was the sight of his own son, slicing up the already butchered corpses. Gore splattered all over his body, his face and hands were painted black by goblin-blood.  
One of them, he left alive, tied to a tree. He must have made the creature witness the downfall of the others, for the vile, pitiful thing was trembling with fear, shaking as violently as his bounds would leave him.

Elrond stood motionless, paralysed by the sight. As if the ages of the world had suddenly turned backwards, as if Vaire moved her shuttle the wrong way! He had seen this before, his kin, his family lost so deep within the realms of pain and vengeance...

o.o

_'Elros, stop it! Enough! Please, Elros stop!'  
__But his brother paid no attention to his pleas, he kept slamming his small knife into the dead bodies around him, cursing and crying with tears on his small cheeks. The salty wind blew up the curtains then, and the Sea moaned and mourned the loss of Arvernien..._

o.o

Elrohir cursed violently, and he pulled out his long lance from the remnants of something that was once an orc. He turned his fiery gaze upon his captive now, ignorant of the presence of his father, as his attention was focused solely on his prey. Elrond was taken aback by how unlike his eyes were to the light of the stars, as if he were no children of the night-loving Sindar, but one of the Noldor who had liquid fire running in their veins, instead of blood.  
He dropped his lance and pulled out his knife, and then – with a swift motion of his left hand – he sliced two fingers from one filthy hand.

o.o

_Small, pale hands, the hands of Celebrían, his wife, his love, bruised and broken, hanging limp from her body, lacking two fingers..._

o.o

Elrond gasped as the recent memory filled his mind again, clenching his heart, but he was brought back to the present forcefully.  
The goblin shrieked in pain, but Elrohir paid no heed, he moved onto the other hand and cut off two fingers from it as well.  
_'Mercy! Kill me now, Elf!'  
_But Elrohir only smiled as he carved a deep, gushing wound into the orc's face, exactly in the shape of Celebrían's cut. As he moved to the other side of the goblin, Elrond draw his long bow.  
_'Enough, son!'_ his voice rang clear over the song of the bow, as he released an arrow into the heart of the creature.  
Elrohir gave an enraged, delirious scream.  
_'Why did you do that?'_ he demanded, eyes ablaze._ 'He did not deserve to die just like that, he deserved to live through all the pain he had caused, and suffer it thousandfold...'  
__'I said, enough!' _he walked closer slowly, with strong, purposeful steps, not caring whether his boots crashed skulls, opened lungs or broke bones. He tried to capture his son's gaze, but Elrohir turned his attention back to the corpse that was still tied to the tree, and brought his knife down on its neck, cutting its head of, slicing up the body, tearing it open with strike after strike.  
_'What are you doing, son? You will ruin your knife on its ribs!'_ he tried to remain calm and collected, despite the ice that spread in his chest.  
_'I... am...serving... justice!'_ he shouted. _'Hantie, sanyie_!' with each cry he trust his knife forcefully into the corpse.

o.o

_'Murder is almost justice?' he heard himself from another time, long-long before the ages of this world. He was small then, the orc was dead by his feet, and Maedhros seemed magnificently, gloriously tall, and utterly terrifying as he towered over him.  
__'Blood is blood, and death is death. There is no justice in this world.'_

o.o

He did not understand the fiery-headed feanorion then, but he was older, wiser now... He saw more clearly now than Nelyafinwe did then... He turned to his son:  
_'Hantie is not ours to give. Justice is not ours to serve. That is the duty of the Valar!'  
__'Their privilege only, you should say!_' Elrohir smiled dangerously. _'But I shall not care, I will take my part in it, father, regardless of your impassivity, regardless of how weak, or afraid you are to finally do something! I shall serve justice!' _he yelled with passion. Elrond's eyes darkened, but he knew that he painful edge of Elrohir's words were only directed towards him, because he was the only target he could aim at right now. He contradicted him calmly, without losing his temper.  
_'This is vengeance, son.'  
__'And where is the difference?'_ Elrohir asked in a low voice. '_And if it is vengeance, what of it? Do you know what the men of the Far South say about vengeance? That it is the nectar of their gods... And I daresay it is the sweetest of intoxications, the purest, most satisfying kind of pleasure. No wonder the Valar are not intent on sharing it with us!'  
__'Son...'_ but he was at loss of words, and Elrohir turned back to the unrecognisable mass that was once a goblin of Hithaeglir. He stared at it silently now, and Elrond stood behind him, watching as his shoulders trembled.

_'Elrohir, where is your brother?'  
__'He fought with me, but left to pursue the ones who escaped.'_ Elrohir answered in a hollow voice, without turning back to his father.  
_'Your mother still lives...' _Elrond said quietly. _'But my powers might not be enough to keep her fea within her body for long. Do no waste time, for just this once, time is as precious to us, as it always is for mortals!'  
__'Do what you may, Adar, she shall not live! And I shall not linger by her bed until all her life-force finally slips away, and even you are forced to act brave and admit defeat. Her heart might beat yet, but she was killed long ago, and you fool yourself with the hope of the dimwitted and the weak!'  
__'You would do well not to question my judgement, ignorant child!_' Elrond hissed, his composure shaken for the first time.  
_'And you would do well to honour her fea with letting her go, instead of forcing her into this painful shell of an existence so that you could protect your self-esteem, and save yourself from the guilt that should eat you up! Because no matter how many herbs you force down on her throat, no matter how much of your supposed strength you pump into her now, the truth is; you were not there, when she needed you most!'  
_His voice was flat and emotionless; without edge, but Elrond learned long ago, that it was the blunt knife that caused the most damage.

_'Enough!'_ he felt the ice finally taking over him, freezing his heart; he felt his palms tingle with fury.  
_'It is enough, indeed. Don't be as much of a coward, as you always are, Adar. Not this time! Not with her!'_ the plea in his voice did nothing to cease Elrond's fury and Elrohir's jaw cracked at the impact of his hit. Black blood splattered in every direction as his fingers connected with Elrohir's face, and deep silence followed the sickening sound.  
They stared at each other then, motionless, thoughtless, emotionless...

_'Go back to her! I shall find my brother!'  
__'She needs you with her!' _Elrond said in a whisper.  
_'No, she does not. And you shall not need us either. Not now, not for long. Do not expect our return, Elrond Earendilion, the Lord Who Hid!'  
_He grabbed his weapons, and disappeared without a sound, leaving a stunned, broken father behind.

* * *

Note: In order to understand this, you have to be familiar with Elrond's entire life-story! If something is unclear though, I'll gladly answer any questions!

Also, the featured conversation between Maedhros and young Elrond is taken from the wonderful story "Cost of Life" by the amazing Laerthel. She did not allow me to publish this story as I was sneaky and didn't ask for permission, but I do hope she doesn't mind! ;) Go and check out her stories, you won't regret it, I promise!


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